


Touched

by impalaloompa



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Wade comes without being touched, small amount of violence, sort of, you'll have to read it to see what I mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how many times Peter told him that the scars didn’t bother him, that he loved Wade exactly the way he was, and that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought, Wade always struggled with the self-confidence, the self-loathing, and it was starting to get to Peter.<br/>He needed a new plan. A way to convince Wade once and for all that the scars weren’t worth all this distress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touched

Peter and Wade walked hand in hand down a busy side-street, munching on tacos and chatting about which movie they were going to watch this evening.  
“I mean, Die Hard is a classic,” Wade sprayed crumbs down his Spider-Man hoodie, “But there’s just something about Finding Nemo…”  
Peter smiled to himself as Wade rambled on about the merits and flaws of both films. It wasn’t often he and Wade just went out together. No costumes, no threats to face, no civilians to save. Just two boyfriends out for lunch on a Sunday afternoon.  
Peter cast Wade a side glance as the merc waved his taco around as if to emphasise a point. The baseball cap Wade had rammed on his head before going out, plus the hood he had insisted on keeping up, cast a dark shadow over his face, but Peter could still see the way his scars moved when he talked, he could still see the contented sparkle in those deep brown eyes. He gave Wade’s hand a gentle squeeze and a smile twitched on the merc’s lips.  
“And then there’s the dynamic casting to consider,” Wade pushed the rest of his taco into his mouth and stuffed the paper into his hoodie pocket, “Bruce Willis is an artist - are you gonna eat that?”  
Peter followed Wade’s scarred finger which was pointing to his own taco. He thumbed it a little then held it out.  
“You can have it if you want it,” he grinned.  
Wade took and held the hardly touched mexican food as if it were precious then cast a concerned glance at Peter.  
“What’re you gonna eat? You’re wasting away Baby Boy,” Peter stumbled from Wade’s nudge, glad he still had hold of the merc’s hand to catch himself.  
“I’m fine. I’ll eat something when we get home. Besides,” Peter nudged his boyfriend back, holding back a little because he knew how easily he could send Wade flying, “I thought I might save myself for a pizza pig-out later and maybe something with whipped cream too?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.  
Wade swallowed hard.  
“Sure,” he mumbled shyly, “I’m on board with that plan.”  
Peter laughed at him and Wade cracked a smile.  
The merc opened his mouth to say something when a suited man bustled past, catching Wade’s shoulder and causing him to lurch forwards. Peter’s taco fell to the ground.  
“Shit,” Wade grumbled, then, straightening up he shouted after the suit, “Watch where you’re going moron!”  
Peter felt Wade’s calloused fingers slip from his as he ducked down to snatch the taco from the sidewalk.  
As Wade rose to his feet another shoulder bashed into him sending Wade stumbling into Peter, his hood slipping back and his cap falling askew.  
A woman’s gasp sounded to their right and Peter felt Wade stiffen. Peter held onto the merc’s arm as Wade frantically tried to adjust the cap and pull the hood up, but it was too late. They had drawn the attention of the crowd around them and Peter could feel their stares.  
“What happened to him mom?” a child’s voice rose above the noise of passing cars.  
Wade tore himself free of Peter’s grip and sprinted away, pushing past startled civilians as he went.  
“Wade!” Peter shouted after him, “WADE!!”

***  
“Please be home please be home please be home,” Peter prayed under his breath as he took the stairs up to their apartment two at a time.  
He had chased after Wade, quickly losing him in the mass of people.  
The worry clawed at his heart as he launched himself down the hallway and skidded to a stop at their door.  
The door was open slightly, allowing a wedge of their apartment to be seen. Peter huffed out a breath. Good sign.  
He pushed it all the way open then closed it behind him.  
“Wade?” he called softly. A crash came from the bathroom. Bad sign.  
“Wade?” he shouted, practically ripping the bedroom door off its hinges, hurdling the bed and slamming into the locked bathroom door.  
“Dammit Wade!” he growled through the wood, “Open this door or so help me-”  
He heard the click of the lock and took a moment to steel himself. He pushed it open with more force than he had intended and stepped into the bathroom. Wade had jumped back as the door flew open and was now perched on the edge of the bath.  
“Wade…” Peter breathed. The merc had his head down, eyes burning holes into the tiled floor. He was clutching his right hand and Peter noticed the shards of glass that were already starting to be expelled from his knuckles by his over active healing factor.  
Peter took in the broken mirror. Large knives of glass littered the sink and poked out of the fluffy bath mat on the floor. He could see the flecks of Wade’s blood decorating the toothbrush holder and the tap.  
Worry about it later, he told himself, worry about Wade first.  
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.  
“I’m sorry Wade. That wasn’t… You’re not… I’m sorry,” Peter reached out to touch his boyfriend’s shoulder. Wade jerked back under the touch and Peter caught him just in time before he fell into the bath. He pulled Wade to his feet, hands fisted in the merc’s hoodie, and pressed his forehead against Wade’s.  
Wade turned his head away. Peter drew back, frustration and worry churning in his gut.  
Every time he made progress with Wade, every time the merc seemed to be more comfortable in his own skin, something happened which shoved them back to square one. No matter how many times Peter told him that the scars didn’t bother him, that he loved Wade exactly the way he was, and that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought, Wade always struggled with the self-confidence, the self-loathing, and it was starting to get to Peter. He just needed his boyfriend, and, as much as he hated himself for thinking it, he was tired of fighting this constant spiral. He needed a new plan. A way to convince Wade once and for all that the scars weren’t worth all this distress.  
“Wade,” he muttered, “look at me.”  
Wade shook his head and tried to bury his face in his hands but Peter caught his wrists and held them fast.  
“Look at me,” he said again, his tone harder than before.  
Wade’s eyes flicked up and met Peter’s.  
“Fuck Petey, don’t look at me like that,” he scowled.  
Peter forced the pity from his face and he managed to smile at Wade.  
“I love you Wade Wilson,” he said firmly, “Scars and all.”  
Wade grumbled something but fell silent when Peter leaned forwards and captured his chapped lips with his own. He didn’t kiss Peter back, just stood there, eyes wide, breath ragged.  
Peter pulled away and cupped Wade’s scarred cheek with a gentle hand. Wade leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.  
“How… why do you love me? How can you love… love this?” Wade’s eyes had opened again and he was searching Peter’s face with earnest whilst absently running a finger over the rough flesh of his neck.  
“Because,” Peter held Wade’s face with both hands so that he could ensure Wade’s attention, “Despite the fact you are a killer for hire, you try. You try so hard to be the man I know you can be. You are good Wade. I see it everyday, in all the little things you do. And the scars? They are part of you and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  
He brushed the tear that had rolled from Wade’s eye away with his thumb. He kissed the wet spot gently, pressing his warm lips against the ridge of a particularly deep scar.  
“I love this one,” he mumbled into Wade’s cheek, flicking his tongue against Wade’s skin, “And I love this one,” he tilted Wade’s head back so he could trail a wet kiss along a scar on Wade’s jawline, “And I love this one,” he nibbled at a crevice on Wade’s neck which enticed a low groan from the merc.  
Peter moved his hands to rest on Wade’s hips as he kissed and licked and traced the scars patterning Wade’s cheeks. The little sighs and slight whimpers he was pulling from Wade sparked an idea.  
He tucked his fingers under the hem of Wade’s hoodie and ran both his hands up Wade’s firm torso, fingers ghosting over the nipples and rubbing into his chest.  
Wade pressed into the touch, never breaking eye contact with Peter. Peter kissed him again, firm and wet. Wade growled into Peter’s mouth, wrapping his arms around the young hero and holding him close, trapping Peter’s arms in between them. He nipped and sucked at Peter’s lips hungrily until Peter opened his mouth slightly and Wade’s eager tongue darted inside, swirling and tasting.  
Peter slid his hands round under the hoodie so that he could rub and trace the scars on Wade’s back.  
Wade gasped into Peter’s mouth when his fingers scratched at a particularly soft spot of Wade’s skin. Peter touched the spot again and Wade arched into the contact.  
Peter couldn’t believe how responsive Wade was. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t really taken much notice before. He was constantly touching Wade’s skin but never really feeling it, never really exploring and finding out the most sensitive spots.  
He broke their frantic kiss and pulled Wade into the bedroom. He tore the merc’s hoodie up and over his head, throwing it into the corner then turning his attention back to Wade.  
Wade was now half naked, marred chest heaving with every breath.  
Peter hooked a finger into the waistband of Wade’s jeans and tugged so that the button popped then he pushed them down, hands deliberately brushing against Wade’s thighs.  
“Jesus fuck Peter,” Wade muttered.  
Peter pushed Wade back a little so that he was forced to step out of his pants. Peter suddenly became aware of Wade’s erection straining against the fabric of his boxers. He smirked slightly.  
“Enjoying this Wade?” he grinned.  
Before Wade could form a coherent thought, Peter splayed a hand on his chest and pushed him down onto the bed. Wade scooted up so that his head rested on the pillows and Peter took his chance to discard his shoes and pants. He was content in his t-shirt and boxers. He could feel his own erection becoming uncomfortable but he ignored it. This wasn’t about him. This was about Wade.  
He knelt on the bed next to Wade, leaned over the merc to press a chaste kiss to his rough lips, then set to work.  
He started on Wade’s neck. Little nips and licks, trailing down onto his shoulder, mapping and memorising every bump and ridge.  
Peter ran the hand that wasn’t supporting himself on the bed along Wade’s other shoulder and down onto his chest, kneading and gently scratching as he went.  
Wade was struggling to keep still beneath him, wriggling and whimpering as Peter touched and tasted him.  
Merc let out a strangled moan when Peter’ fingers fluttered over a spot on his stomach. Peter immediately brought his lips to the spot and sucked at the sensitive skin.  
Wade jerked and cussed and fisted his hands into the bed sheets.  
Peter trailed hard kisses down to Wade’s navel and dipped his tongue in. A breathy laugh shook Wade and Peter smiled into his skin.  
He pressed his tongue flat against the skin just above the elastic of Wade’s boxers and licked a firm line back up to his navel. Wade shuddered, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.  
Peter dragged his nose down over the bulge of Wade’s boxers, causing the merc to cry out at the unexpected touch, then scraped his teeth gently over the skin of Wade’s inner thigh.  
“Fuck Peter,” Wade wailed when Peter pulsed his tongue against the sensitive spot he had just found.  
Wade’s hips bucked when Peter introduced his teeth again.  
There was something so special and magical about this intimate moment. Peter had never felt closer to Wade and he didn’t want it to end.  
But, as he moved over to torture Wade’s other thigh, the merc came with a blissful scream, shaking and shuddering as his orgasm ripped through him. The wet stain on Wade’s boxers spread quickly.  
“Shit, Baby Boy,” Wade managed to choke out, “That was… fuck.”  
“And I didn’t even touch you,” Peter smirked, straddling Wade’s thighs so that he could look down at his boyfriend.  
“Ha,” Wade smiled lazily, as he came down from his high, “so-so fucking did touch me. Like everywhere. Except from here,” he canted his hips up so that his clothed cock brushed against Peter’s hand.  
Peter chuckled and he leaned down to kiss Wade.  
“Thank you Baby Boy,” Wade mumbled into Peter’s lips.  
Peter smiled at him. A proper ear to ear smile that lit up his eyes and warmed his heart.  
“I-love-you,” Peter sighed after each peck of his lips on Wade’s.  
“Scars and all?” Wade blinked at him.  
“Scars*kiss*and*kiss*all.”  
Wade’s head fell back against the pillow and Peter poked him in the ribs.  
“Hey!” he grumbled, “Don’t fall asleep on me yet. I’m still incredibly hard and I so totally fancy some whipped cream right now.”  
Wade blushed nearly as red as his Deadpool suit.  
“Sure,” Wade managed to grin, wiggling his hips so that his crotch grinded against Peter’s.  
Peter gasped at the contact.  
“I’m ready when you are Petey-pie,” Wade smirked. He hummed in the back of his throat.  
“Some whipped cream on my Petey-pie.”  
Peter laughed and batted at Wade’s roaming hands.  
“Be right back,” he leaned in and kissed Wade again before jumping off the bed and running through to the kitchen.  
As Wade listened to Peter crash about in the other room, he took a moment to cast a skeptical look down his nearly naked body. Peter loved him. Loved his… everything. And Wade still couldn’t understand why, but, after what had just happened, he could finally accept it.  
A strange weight felt as if it had been lifted from his chest. He breathed deeply, enjoying the new freedom.  
He lay quietly, relishing in the tingle from his over sensitised skin. He felt so good. He fought sleep as it tugged at his eye lids. A battle he realised that he was losing.  
The last thought that ran through his mind before he slid into unconsciousness was ‘Sorry Peter.’


End file.
